


Ledger of Red

by Zoadgo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent Season 1 Episode 10, Gen, Redemption, Ritualistic Scarring, Violence, self mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy has returned to camp, much to the annoyance of everyone in it. It wasn't his choice, but he's trying to do right by them, not matter how much he just wants to kill everyone who had a part in his attempted execution. He can't completely quiet that voice, but maybe he can find a different way to satisfy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ledger of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from tumblr user doglegsofficial; "This may be too vague of a request, but could you do a fic of Murphy with a redemption theme? What intrigues me about his character is that he has such potential for this Natasha Romanov/Black Widow-style quest to change himself & make up for the blood he's spilled - because he's done terrible things for revenge against a system that's abused him his whole life, but he's also shown such glimmers of honesty and goodness that give me hope. Can be AU or canon verse, but not too much shippiness pls?"

Murphy fucked up. He’d be the first to admit that, except that in order to admit it to anyone, someone would actually have to talk to him first. And most people tend to avoid saying more than the bare necessities to him since he’d come back into camp, crying and vomiting blood.

He really doesn’t understand what their big deal is. He hadn’t killed anyone, in the end. Sure, he’d wanted justice against Charlotte. He still believes to this day that he deserves it, considering he’s reminded by the injustices paid to him every time he breathes too deep and his poorly healed ribs protest, or he bends his neck the wrong way and the rope scar stretches, pulling painfully at the surrounding skin. But he doesn’t mention it. No matter how wronged he was by these people, he needs them unless he wants to be returned to the Grounders.

So he puts his head down and he works. A small part of him, dark and twisted, far more sinister than anyone suspects even of him, stays active behind his facade of sarcasm. It plots people’s deaths, tells him how he could get away with it. He works out the sadism on gutting fish and spreading meat in the smoke shack, but it’s never really enough. He wants to kill people, and he knows he’s damn good at it.

A lot had happened to him in the Grounder camp. Yes, they had tortured him, ripped his fingernails off and harassed him for information. But they had also used him for their amusement. Apparently a favourite pastime of theirs is to take two prisoners of war, which is basically anyone they perceive to have wronged them, and to put them in one cage after days of starvation and promise a meal to the victor. Murphy had never gotten the promised meal, but he had learned how to rip someone’s throat out with his teeth.

The first fight had earned him his first ritualistic scar. He’d been hoping for an apple or maybe a scrap of burned meat, but what can you do. His first kill had been using a rock to beat the other man’s skull in, and thus he received a diamond on his chest. The dot scars are only for warriors of the tribe, but all deaths should be remembered. Murphy has six symbols carved into his flesh. After the first two, they hadn’t needed to starve him any more. He’d been killing because he was good at it, and one of them had to die in the end. No sense in it being him.

Murphy rips the guts out of a small fish with a little more vigor than is strictly necessary or desired, pushing his thumb through the wall of its stomach and spilling bile. Better than doing what he wants to do, which is picking up the small knife and driving it into the eye of Connor, who’s whistling a jaunty little tune next to Murphy as if he had never tried to execute him. He shoves the foul innards into a bucket next to his improvised table and sets to removing the skin.

“You can take a break after that one, Murphy.” Clarke is nothing but professional with Murphy, but he actually doesn’t mind it at all. She’d never tried to kill him. Hell, she was even the reason he’s still alive. Bellamy would have just shot him if Clarke hadn’t been there to stop him as Murphy sat there trembling, completely at the mercy of the vengeful God and merciful Angel that lead this camp.

The way Murphy sees it, he has no reason to dislike Clarke. He’s actually kind to her, because she’s never shown him ill will. Yes, she had accused him, but she’d also tried to stop them when they’d taken her emotional accusation at face value. Those who had beaten him, strung him up, and kicked the platform out from beneath his feet, however, he had issues cohabiting with.

Murphy neatly fillets the fish and sets the sections of meat into a growing pile. Smoke shack crew will be around to pick it up soon, but until then it serves as a visual reminder to everyone that Murphy is earning his time here, the same as all of them. As he sets down the knife with a sigh, Murphy slinks over to a fire and grabs a cup of water, rinsing his hands in one of the wash basins first.

While he stares into the flames, his resentment towards his fellow delinquents fades. He’ll never like most of them, but he’s not really one for liking… things. At a certain level, he can understand why they did what they did to him. He doesn’t like it, of course, but he understands it. He wouldn’t have that much of an issue with them if it weren’t for the deep seated rage that the Grounder games had awoken in him.

He’s musing on the concept of killing the girl across the fire from him when there are shouts of surprise and the sound of something small hitting the gate. He stays seated as everyone stands and rushes over, desperate to be part of the crowd even though they can’t see anything. News will reach him soon enough, so Murphy just sips his water in peace.

Bellamy and Clarke walk beside each other through the crowd, exuding power with their partnership. Although both are leaders in their own right, Murphy is safe in saying the best thing he’s ever accomplished is bringing them together to lead the delinquents. Maybe he could have done it in a way that didn’t end with him getting banished, but hey, hindsight is always 20/20. 

The crowd quickly swallows them again, but Murphy can soon pick up on whispers. Something about an arrow, and a note. Probably the Grounders. How very dramatic of them. Surely they could have spelled out the message carved into the chests of corpses or something.

“Listen up!” Bellamy’s deep voice booms through the clearing, and Murphy hopes he’s not about to say anything the Grounders shouldn’t hear, given that Murphy’s about ninety percent certain he saw a shape moving in the tree branches just a moment ago. “The Grounders have said that if we surrender any bomb materials, those who made the bomb, and all of our rifles to them, they will let us leave this place!”

There’s muttering in the crowd, the general consensus of which seems to be “Fuck that.”

“They’re afraid, they know we can fight back.” Clarke’s voice is clear over the sounds of hushed voices. “We have a chance to leave, but there is no guarantee that they’ll actually let us. And without weapons, we would die.”

General sounds of agreement at that. Good, Murphy can die alongside people he despises when the Grounders come. He wonders how long that will be.

“We have two days!” Bellamy again. Fun, just enough time for the last of Murphy’s wounds to heal. “But we’ve prepared for this! We have better weapons than them, we have bombs and grenades, we have guns! We will not let them scare us away, we will fight for everything that we’ve built here! It may not be much, but damn it, it’s ours!”

The crowd cheers and some even pump their fists in the air. Idiots. They get taken in so easily by Bellamy’s enthusiasm and Clarke’s sincerity. The first person to split from the crowd is Raven, and she passes close enough that Murphy can hear her muttering “Sure, bombs and grenades. Never mind that I haven’t actually made any yet, and all of you are about as helpful as a two headed deer when it comes to that stuff.” Murphy smiles into his cup. Looks like everyone will be busy over the next few days.

The crowd disperses, following shouted orders from Bellamy and a few clear commands from Clarke. Some people are reassigned, some people are sent back to their old tasks. There’s a nervous energy that fills the camp, and Murphy happily lets it flow around him. He’s not concerned. Death will come for him eventually, at least this way he gets to fight first.

“Murphy. With us.” Bellamy’s brusque grunt as he passes Murphy surprises him, but he follows with no comment. Probably going to lock him up before the battle because they don’t trust him.

They cross the packed earth to the dropship, the lower floor having been converted into a war chamber. A map of the terrain is crudely made from scrap and dirt, and weapons are carefully sorted and stockpiled. From the second floor Murphy can hear cursing and laughter, and he wonders exactly how strange Raven’s creative process is. He sits down in one of the chairs that remains, leaning back casually.

“What can I do for you?” The glare that he receives in response to his smile only makes his grin wider. He tries to be polite, and this is the thanks Bellamy gives him? Murphy really didn’t expect anything else.

“Intel.” In the end, it’s Clarke who talks to him as Bellamy broods in the background. Well, Murphy has to hand it to him, he’s really good at brooding. “You’ve been in the Grounder camp. You can tell us about them, their tactics.”

“I don’t know what you think they show their prisoners, but it’s nothing useful.” Bellamy makes a sudden movement, maybe to hit him, but Clarke stops him with a small gesture of her hand without looking away from Murphy. “They never spoke English unless questioning me or ordering me to do something.”

“There must have been something you picked up on. Did you see what sort of weaponry and armour they have, or how many soldiers?”

Murphy’s cell had been in a building on the edge of a village. The only time he’d gone into the village was to fight someone, and then he wasn’t really focusing on counting people. His focus was entirely taken by blood and dirt and pain. He shakes his head.

“Nothing more than you already know. I can tell you where their village is, but I can’t tell you much about it.” Bellamy shakes his head at a questioning glance from Clarke.

“That won’t help us. We can’t spare anyone to go there, and even if we could, it’s a suicide mission.” Clarke sighs and turns back to Murphy.

“Okay, thanks. That’s all, but if you think of anything…” They must be getting really desperate, to place hope on him. Murphy guesses that it’s only natural for them to fear death and want to fight it. Unfortunately he really won’t be of any use until it comes to the actual fighting and killing.

Murphy nods and stands up, walking out of the dropship as Bellamy and Clarke immediately turn to pour over the improvised map, placing and removing markers that must indicated potential bomb locations or something of the sort. He actually feels a little back that he couldn’t help out. Maybe he should tell them about the Grounder he saw in the trees? But that would probably just make them panic, when that one was almost definitely just the person who delivered the message.

Murphy’s hand is grasping the red tarp that separates the dropship from the rest of the world when he has an idea. Potentially even a good idea.

“I’ve thought of something.” He waits until Clarke and Bellamy stop talking before he releases the fabric and turns around. “I could go.”

“What?” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, brow furrowed in confusion.

“To the Grounder village. I could go.”

“That’s-”

“Perfect.” Murphy cuts Clarke off. “Let’s face it, no one wants me here anyway. But I know where the village is, and I can at least do some recon. Maybe if we’re lucky I could take out a sentry or two.”

“Taking out sentries is too risky, it might prompt their attack early.” Bellamy drums his fingers on the table and Clarke stares at a bullet casing that marks a gunner standpoint. They stay like that for a while, deliberating on Murphy’s fate in silence. Then they share a look and somehow seem to communicate more in that glance than Murphy has ever communicated to anyone. 

“Do it.” It’s Clarke who gives him the all clear, and his smile verges on predatory. “Map out their village, gather as much intel as you can. But whatever you do, don’t get caught.”

Murphy nods, and this time he leaves without pause. There’s no time to waste, even though the sun is rapidly sinking below the horizon. He knows the path he took when he ran from the Grounders, he’ll be able to follow it in the dark. Before he leaves the camp itself, though, he scans the trees for any glint of firelight off of leather or metal. Satisfied, he grabs a piece of bark and a stick of charcoal along with a long knife, and heads into the growing darkness.

Sunset doesn’t take long, but Murphy’s going off of instinct anyway. The Grounders aren’t able to see any better than him in the darkness, so all he has to do is make sure he stays quiet. Avoiding twigs and dry leaves is easier than he’d thought it would be, but Murphy supposes that’s because he’s focusing on it.

He makes sure to keeps his senses open to the world around him, though, and that’s the only thing that saves him when he hears a rustle of air behind him without feeling any form of breeze. Murphy drops to the ground immediately, and the Grounder’s knife flashes above his head in a quick slash that probably would have cut his carotid, had he still been stumbling along.

Adrenaline courses into his veins, and with it comes life. Murphy feels whole as he slashes at the arm above him and warm blood burns his skin. When the enemy blade nips at his flesh it feels like the lightest caress. The heat of battle gives Murphy the purpose he’d never found on the Ark or on Earth, and he wishes it could last forever.

It doesn’t, of course. A few more slashes and Murphy manages to duck in close, slitting the Grounder’s throat. For all of their bulky furs and leather, most of them leave the vital area completely exposed. The man dies quietly, still trying to stab Murphy as his own blood drowns him. In the end, Murphy is left standing as a corpse thuds to the ground.

The dark place within Murphy sighs in contentment, and the part that desires to please the people who have offered him protection and even shown trust in him now is pleased at having fought to keep them safe. He decides that this is a good thing, killing for his chosen leaders. Killing to protect others, hell, even Bellamy has to approve of that.

But an insistent itch over Murphy’s ribs prompts him to do something Bellamy would probably not approve of, and Clarke definitely wouldn’t. In the darkness of the forest, with only trees to witness, Murphy raises his shirt and sets his knife to his skin. With a deep, straight mark, he begins a tally. Killing is tied to Grounder ideals for him, but Murphy vows in that moment to kill only for those he deems worthy.

He walks away from the corpse, leaving it in the darkness for scavengers to feast upon. He continues towards the village and his original goal, satisfied in a way he’d never felt before. And with those steps he also sets out on a path to redemption, a certain kind of redemption that will almost just as certainly damn him. But maybe he’ll end up going to a better hell, who knows.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to do, okay?? I got this prompt and fell in love with it, but I was in a fluffy mood. After last nights lack of Murphy though, I had to do something in canon verse for him, and this was perfect. So thanks so much for the prompt! Also thanks to my super speed editor [coldsaturn](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) for editing this while I slept!
> 
> Come to with me [on tumblr!](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com) Thanks in advance for commenting/viewing/leaving kudos <3


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